


Rapture

by bleedinqhearts



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Creampie, F/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, entywayz u know da vibes just straight up porn take it or leave it, guys i swear it's pretty decent!!!, u know just the sexc shit akekeke, why do i type stuff like this in the tags this is exactly why no one clicks on my fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedinqhearts/pseuds/bleedinqhearts
Summary: His tenacity and stamina prove to be a deadly combination indeed.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 391





	Rapture

“ _Is it too much?_ ” He coos, condescendingly so. 

He asks this like he’ll stop if you tell him that _yes_ , _yes it is too much_ , but you’ll never say that because even if your legs feel like jelly and your throat is sore from the amount of times you’ve spent crying, sobbing, or screaming his name, it’ll never be too much — _it’ll never be enough_. He knows this, and this might just be the reason why he asks; partly due to his naturally inquisitiveness and innate need to have all the answers to his questions before coming to his final conclusion, but also because Kiyoomi’s a bit of a sadist whenever it comes to you.

For someone so averse to touch, Kiyoomi Sakusa shows no qualms about burying his fingers knuckles deep in your tight cunt; rather he appears to relish in the feel of your walls tightening around him, squeezing him like you don’t ever want him to leave. And perhaps you don’t. 

He has you seated on his lap, legs spread open for him, allowing him entrance to thrust, flick, and tease you as he pleases, for however long as wants. 

He told you, thirty minutes before he began ravishing you from the inside out, that you should be ecstatic that he’s willing to spend all night fucking you good and well because there’s no one else who can do it as well as him; certainly not Bokuto, who can only dream (and probably does) about being in his current position. 

“I bet you _liked_ having him eyefuck you today, huh?” While he knows for a fact that you only have feelings for him, he likes to have valid excuses for fucking you into submission, and if having to exaggerate his mild irritation at having a teammate check you out serves as a good enough reason, then so be it. 

“ _N-no_.” You whimper out, and it’s the ninth wonder of the world on how you’re managing to speak as his fingers are stretching you out, prepping you for the main event that you’re not even quite sure you’re going to get.

It’s been an agonizing, near torturous thirty minutes, and you’ve already came _twice_ , both times with him just using his fingers, and he still won’t _stop_.

When Kiyoomi Sakusa puts his mind to something, he is relentless — he’s a force to be reckoned with, and every wall of resistance is shut down quickly and efficiently so. 

“No?” He asks, punctuating his reply with a sharp thrust that has you keening for more. The material of his track pants are _drenched_ from your juices, forming a wet stain that’s hard to leave unnoticed. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t say. He just continues his assault on all your senses, muddling your brain’s sensors from identifying whether or not this is pure, unadulterated pain or pleasure; is this your heaven or hell; is he ravishing or ravaging you? 

It doesn’t matter. Nothing really matters, save for the thrusts of his fingers — long with calloused pads and neatly trimmed nails — and the feel of his thumb traveling to rub against your clit. It’s a wonder, an achievement that deserves a plaque, really, on how you’re still even able to speak. 

“K-Kiyoomi, _it’s too much_.” You cry out, lifting your hips, but he has an arm wrapped around your waist, effectively holding you still. Not like it matters; bucking your hips just the slightest only allows him in deeper. The sounds filling the room are downright lewd; the sound of his fingers thrusting themselves in and out of you, wet and squelching and so absolutely _salacious_ that you almost feel ashamed — _almost_. 

Lithe fingers curl themselves, purposely avoiding any major points that would have you cumming in no time; you know he’s feigning ignorance because no one else before Kiyoomi has ever come close to fingerfucking you as well as him, and now he suddenly doesn’t know that if he just stretches his fingers, just extends them the slightest—

You whine as he abruptly removes his fingers. They’re glistening underneath the glow of the lights, shiny and soaked, and he examines them with deep interest. 

You’ve never thought that after having two orgasms you would crave his touch some more, but now you just feel _empty_. He’s been unforgiving in his exploration of your pussy, and he’s been going at it for so long that now all you know, all you desire, is the feeling of being filled, of being fingerfucked so well that pleasure can only be derived from his fingers.

“You’re absolutely _filthy_.” He growls in your ear, bringing the hand that’s brought you so much pleasure to rest on your thighs, fingers so slippery they can’t even get a proper grip on you to squeeze your soft flesh. “Look at the mess you’ve made.” He continues, hand traveling back up to your sopping cunt, walls clenching around nothing, hungry for attention even though it’s been well taken care of already. That’s you, always so _selfish_ , so _needy_ , so _desperate_. All for him, though. _Only him_. 

And he knows this; knows that you’re his and his only, knows that you’re needy and craving the pleasure only he can provide you with, and who is he to deny his lovely girlfriend what she wants? 

He’s moving the both of you effortlessly, and you’re happy to have him throw you around however he pleases if it means he’ll continue to fuck you. He has you on your back, the sheets billowing upon your ungraceful landing, and you’ve never seen Kiyoomi look so _impatient_. 

When he’s tugging at the waistband of his pants, sliding them down along with his boxers, freeing his cock, you practically start to salivate like the depraved little cockslut you are. The head of his cock is glistening with beads of precum, and he’s so hard it’s nearly painful. 

“What are you wai— _Ohhh_!” He doesn’t even give you time to adjust. He enters you easily, your slick coating his dick the moment he enters you, and he doesn’t even bother with an experimental thrust to make sure that you’re ready; he’s been waiting for this all night, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to go as hard as he wants, as soon as he wants.

His tenacity paired with his stamina is a deadly combination indeed. He is fast and relentless, forcing out even more of your wetness; you’re soaking the sheets, and he could care less. He’ll sleep like the dead after he’s done with you.

He’s going to have you cum all over his dick, and he’s going to have you screaming his name so loud that the whole entire prefecture is going to know that you are nothing more than Kiyoomi Sakusa’s little cockwhore, and you _love_ being his little fucktoy. You might have craved for the feel of his fingers, but they are nothing compared to the insatiable hunger you have for having his cock inside of you.

The tip just barely brushes against your cervix; enough to stimulate newfound pleasure your previous partner could never give you, but not to the point where it hurts. He’s fucking into you like you’re completely unbreakable, even though that’s far from the truth. Hands travel all over your body, almost as if he’s unsure of where he wants to focus on: your breasts, which bounce with every sharp thrust; your hips, to keep you steady as he continues to rail you; or perhaps your clit. Quick flicks of his thumb to your little bud has you bucking your hips, the tiny added stimulation making you an even bigger mess. 

_You’re so close, you’re so close, you’re so close_. 

Your third orgasm of the night is just as gratifying as the first two. You welcome in the lovely addition of his cum as he releases inside of you, filling you up even more, and you feel thoroughly fucked. It should be impossible, you think, for one man to possess such talent, but you’re not necessarily complaining. 

That is, you aren’t until his thrusts don’t cease.

“Kiyoomi!” Your exclamation is a mix between a yelp of surprise and a moan. You’re too sensitive right now, still not quite over your climax, but he doesn’t care. 

The room reeks of sex. You’re both sweaty, flushed, and you have no idea where this burst of energy is coming from because you hardly can move a muscle. Not like it matters much because he’s doing all the work anyway.

“One more. You can give me one more.” He grunts, gripping your thighs, squeezing roughly, harshly, and you are _too sensitive_ right now. He’s overloading your senses, and he’s nearly inhuman in his speed and strength. 

Your body is aching, your limbs feel limp and useless, and you don’t think you have it in you to give him what he wants. What he’s asking for is borderline _impossible_ , but you might have to add the emphasis to borderline instead because you can feel it, the telltale signs of yet another orgasm, and you didn’t think you would be ready for another one so quickly, but he is ramming himself into you at a speed that has the headboard banging against the wall. 

“Oh, fuck, I love it when you’re like this.” He groans, loving the way your walls contract around his throbbing cock, sucking him in. You’re so fucking tight that he really has to make an effort to pull out with every thrust, and holy shit, he wouldn’t have it any other way. You don’t believe you have it in you, but he knows better; he can have you cumming all night long if he wants. 

You cry when you cum again, actually teary eyed and red in the cheeks, and you have no right to look so fucking divine right now, and just seeing your flushed, depraved visage has him emptying his balls out in you for a second time. 

He admires the end results of all of his hard work. You’re breathing in and out deeply, your hair is splayed out wildly, and the mess in between your legs looks near impossible to clean. Both his cum and yours are dripping out of you; no matter how many times you two wash it, the sheets will never quite be the same again. 

He doesn’t want to pull out, but the post sex haze doesn’t cloud his sensibility like it does yours, and he has to admit that the two of you just simply cannot go to bed like this, all sweaty and sticky and just downright _dirty_. 

“Mmm, what’re we doing?” You mumble as he carries you bridal style in his arms, you being so sore and tired that you can barely force yourself to hold onto his neck. 

“We’re going to shower.” 

You two don’t get much sleep at all. 


End file.
